


lest he forget

by Iverna



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-15 01:03:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14148522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iverna/pseuds/Iverna
Summary: There’s a moment—when you do it right—where a drawing begins to come alive...





	lest he forget

There’s a moment—when you do it right—where a drawing begins to come alive. You find yourself smiling back at the person on the page, or avoiding eye contact with them. You want to brush their hair off their forehead, wipe away that tear you drew just beneath their eye, fix their collar for them.

Killian forgot about that. In the dark, pain-filled days after Milah’s death and the loss of his hand, he forgot about everything except his grief, and his anger, and the terrible, ever-growing thirst for vengeance.

But he needs to remember. He know he’ll forget—he can no longer recall the sound of Liam’s voice, or the weight of his brother’s hand on his shoulder. all he has are drawings, pages upon pages filled with portraits of a curly-haired, warm-eyed man, bright smiles and stern looks.

He throws himself into the task of consigning Milah’s memory to paper, too. He already has a few portraits: Milah at the ship’s bow, looking out across the sea; Milah quietly mending a sail; Milah dancing with Smee; Milah smiling at something he can no longer recall. But he needs more. He can’t forget the way her brow creased in annoyance when her hair blew into her face, the wonder on her face when she saw something new, the love in her eyes when she looked at him.

His hand is angry now, the pain and the grief making his lines too strong, too jagged, to shaky. He tries again, and again. He redirects his anger. He softens his grip. He thinks of her—her love for adventure, her determination, her kindness, the flash of her temper, the ways they’d made each other laugh.

Her face takes shape beneath the careful strokes of his pencil. Her dark curls, her bright eyes, her slightly wistful smile.

And there’s a moment—when he gets it right—where the drawing comes alive. There’s a moment where he reaches out to brush back her hair, like he did a hundred times. There’s a moment where he meets her eyes—bright and happy and tinged as always with that lingering sadness—and smiles back at her.

And then he remembers.

And he pushes the page away, just in time to avoid ruining his work—his _work_ , not effortless reality, not _her_ —with the tears that begin to fall.


End file.
